


Tales of Hogwarts (Harry Potter Drabbles)

by Julia_Fractal



Series: Harry Potter Works [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Crack, Dark, Death, Drabble Collection, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Ghosts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Humor, M/M, Multi, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julia_Fractal/pseuds/Julia_Fractal
Summary: *~*~*A whole lot of drabbles set in the Harry Potter universe.Chapter 1: The Magical WorldChapter 2: Ships Ahoy!Chapter 3: Ghost StoriesChapter 4: Death Eaters and DarknessChapter 5: Foolish Wandwaving and General SillinessChapter 6: Endings and Beginnings*~*~*





	1. The Magical World

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these drabbles were originally written for the hp100 community on Livejournal, where the biggest challenge was cutting everything down to exactly 100 words. I'm re-posting everything here in a slightly more organized way, and including the longer versions where they're better.

* * *

**What Dreams Were Made Of**  
Characters: Harry Potter  
Prompt: Stuffed

  
*~*~*  
This was the stuff dreams were made of, Harry thought when he first entered Hogwarts. Magic was real, and opened up a whole new world where he had gold in his pockets, a friend at his side, and a castle to call his home.  
  
The enchantment didn’t last. Soon, he learned that magic could also take the form of lies carved into his flesh in blood and pain; the Unforgivable Curse that killed his parents; and a prophecy he could not escape.  
  
Yet year after year, Harry stepped back onto platform 9¾, because this was the stuff life was made of.  
*~*~*

* * *

  
**Marked by Magic**  
Characters: Hermione Granger

  
*~*~*  
Magic marked you.  
  
At first, she couldn't keep her eyes from popping at new miracles, her ears from straining after strange sounds. Dinners were accompanied by candles floating beneath the night sky, and breakfast by the sound of beating wings.  
  
She would never forget the first electrifying jolt of holding a wand in her hand, and delighted in practicing until the proper motions became engrained in her muscles and bones.  
  
Magic imprinted itself on your senses, and marked you indelibly as its own. As Hermione stepped back into the Muggle world, she could still feel it singing in her veins.  
*~*~*

* * *

** Ten Things to Live By **  
** By Vernon and Petunia Dursley **

  
*~*~*  
1) Normal is good.  
  
2) There’s no sense in buying anything unless it’s the newest model, makes your neighbours envious, or will provide a happy distraction for Dudley for at least ten minutes.  
  
3) Your child is the most perfect, delightful, and intelligent human being ever set upon this earth. Anyone who says otherwise is simply jealous or blind.  
  
4) Never, ever let strangers wearing oddly coloured robes or pointy hats into your home.  
  
5) If, despite your best efforts, those magi – I, mean, weirdos, do somehow manage to enter your abode, do not accept any food from them, and try to get them out as soon as possible.  
  
6) Your life will start again when your nephew reaches seventeen years of age and you can boot him out of the house with a clear conscience.  
  
7) Do not expect those ruddy postal owls to be house-trained.  
  
8) Your neighbours value normality just as much as you do. Therefore, they will happily accept any half-baked, logical explanation for the flying car hovering by your house, the hundred owls hooting on your roof, or the pig’s tail sprouting from your son’s bottom.  
  
9) If you ignore something hard enough, it will cease to exist.  
  
10) Normal is very, very good.  
*~*~*

* * *

**Belonging**  
Characters: Harry Potter, Petunia Dursley

  
*~*~*  
"Harry, you don't have to go back," Aunt Petunia suggested. "My sister was hopeless, but even if you're…her kind, you can still choose a normal life. Smeltings is out of the question, but a nice public school perhaps?"  
  
Harry rubbed his hands nervously. Quidditch had left calluses that ran from the tips of his pinkies to the top of his wrists. He thought of Ron and Hermione, of all the memories crammed inside his school trunk, and knew that he could never be truly alive in her world.  
  
"I need to go back," he answered firmly. "It's where I belong.”  
*~*~*

* * *

**_Hogwarts: A Revised History_**  
Prompt: Everyday objects gone awry.

  
*~*~*  
Two hours before the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, a duel broke out in the most unlikely place: the library. By the time Madame Pince had chased out the combatants, Colin Creevey had sprouted feathers, Malcolm Baddock was blown up like a balloon, and countless misdirected spells and hexes had been fired into the book stacks.  
  
Unbeknownst to everyone, a certain book woke to life.  
  
Had anyone opened it within the next fortnight, it would have given directions to the best snogging spot on the school grounds, told them what portraits dreamed about, revealed Tom Riddle’s greatest weakness, and explained why they should all avoid the shepherd’s pie at dinner.  
  
Unfortunately, nobody ever did, and _Hogwarts: A History_ was forced to keep its secrets as it silently gathered dust upon the shelf.  
*~*~*

* * *


	2. Ships Ahoy!

* * *

**The Kiss**  
  
Pairings: Harry/Draco  
Prompt: Fandom Cliché  
  
*~*~*  
“You see Professor, I was irresistibly drawn by Potter’s emerald green orbs, which shone like beckoning flames in the darkness…”  
  
“No! Malfoy was under a Soporific Curse and needed a snog, like that princess in the fairy tale…”  
  
“Hey, who are you calling ‘princess?’ We tripped and fell on each other’s lips.”  
  
Snape looked utterly unconvinced.“Should I find the two of you shagging in a broom cupboard,” he said caustically, “Am I to assume that it is only to prevent the annihilation of the Wizarding world?”  
  
“Exactly!” the boys answered in unison, and shut the door in Snape’s face.  
*~*~*~  
  
A/N: The "we tripped and fell on each other's lips" line is borrowed from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All other clichés belong exclusively to the HP fandom :)

* * *

 **Litany of Desire**  
Pairing: Hermione/Ginny  
*~*~*  
  
Dearest Ginny:  
  
I want to feel your hair falling over my shoulder as we kiss.  
  
I want to count every freckle on your body, to trace meandering paths among them, as though linking stars into new constellations.Of course, I tend to lose count once I get below your shoulders, but you never seem to mind.  
  
I want to hear my name on your lips, all four syllables gasped out in one stuttering breath.  
  
I want to make you moan, make you come, make you laugh.  
  
I want more than words can convey, so please, let me show you.  
*~*~*

* * *

 **Not So Obvious**  
Pairing: Harry/Ron  
  
*~*~*  
“How could you not have known?” Hermione asked.  
  
This was the last response Harry had expected upon coming out to his friends.  
  
“You’re seventeen, surely your body’s been sending you messages…”  
  
Harry stared at her in mute confusion.  
  
Hermione abandoned tact, “You’re a boy, you have erections to tell you who you’re attracted to.”  
  
“It’s not a bloody weathervane!” Harry answered as he blushed furiously. “Sometimes you just sit on a broom the wrong way, or it’s a certain time of day…”  
  
“And sometimes it’s because you’re thinking about shagging him senseless,” Ron added. Harry was still blushing, but also smiling.  
*~*~*

* * *

 **Bellydancer**  
Pairing: Hagrid/Madame Maxime  
Prompt: In Motion  
  
*~*~*  
The dancer moved with mesmerizing grace. Her hips seemed to possess a life of their own as they shimmied, hypnotizing the audience with each sensual slide or sultry sway. It was impossible to tell whether it was the music that called forth her movements, or her movements that created the music.  
  
Colin Creevey’s jaw dropped in wonder. When the dancer ended her performance with a playful hop, he was catapulted two feet into the air. His mouth was still hanging open when he plopped back down.  
  
“That’s my Olympe!” Hagrid cried happily as the audience gave Madame Maxime a standing ovation.  
  
*~*~*

* * *

 **Foolish Wandwaving**  
Pairing: Lucius/Dumbledore  
Prompt: This is what happens when you're writing based on randomly chosen prompts, and pull out the words "Dumbledore," "Lucius," and "Harlequin romance."  
*~*~*  
  
His robes were fine velvet, but Lucius imagined the feel of his skin must be finer still.The man's hair and beard were snowy white and flowing, and his cerulean blue eyes always held a delightfully mischievous twinkle.Others would scoff and sneer, or worse, laugh outright, if they ever heard of this impossible romance.But every time Lucius saw the man, he could not keep a damnable flush from rising in his cheeks... or prevent the blood from rushing to other parts of his anatomy.  
  
Lucius was beginning to run out of pretexts for their meetings.Even for a key member of the Board of Governors, there was no reason to visit Hogwarts quite so frequently.Perhaps the time had finally come for them to confess their desires, like the responsible, mature wizards they both were (or so the latest edition of Foolish Wandwaving had advised).  
  
“Headmaster,” Lucius announced as he strode into Dumbledore's office, “I have certain matters to discuss with you.”  
*~*~*

* * *

 **The Gary Stue Among us**  
Pairing: James Potter/Lily Evans  
  
“James Potter was a most handsome and popular boy,” James read from the computer screen and chortled.“Not only was he adored by his fellow Gryffindors, but also admired and respected by all the rest of Hogwarts.He was Head Boy, star Chaser, and spectacularly successful in everything he set his mind to.He had three friends who were good and true, well except for one who turned out to be a traitor, the bloody rat!Anyway, one day James met a beautiful, red-haired young witch named Lily Evans, and Destiny itself stepped in…”  
  
“Merlin’s Bollocks, Sirius, who wrote this drivel?” James demanded.  
  
Sirius squinted at the screen over James' shoulder,“Looks like the author is one Harry J. Potter...”  
*~*~*

* * *

**Scholarly Devotion**

Pairing: Hermione/Ginny  
*~*~*  
  
Perfect prefect, teacher’s pet, know-it-all. You’ve heard it all before, Hermione. Most people think that you study so hard simply to be an irritating show-off, but I know better.  
  
I love the way you study: with such quiet intensity, such undying passion. Your quest for knowledge is a thirst that could never be quenched, a hunger that is never sated. The precision of arithmancy, the verdant secrets of herbology, plus astronomy, potions, ancient runes, all of magic light and dark... these were your first loves. The heady joy of newfound knowledge, the pleasure of absorbing a spell so completely it merges into your very being.  
  
I understand this because you study me in exactly the same way. Before your eyes, I’m like a book laid open. Body, heart, and soul, trembling in sweet anticipation. With lips and tongues, we exchange a silent round of questions, answers, and promises. Your clever fingers map the familiar terrain of my body. Your mouth suckles at my breast as though you’ve discovered the fountain of knowledge and never intend to let it go. There is no greater bliss than being the subject of your scholarly devotion.  
  
I love the way you study: eagerly, lovingly…  
  
Thoroughly.  
  
***~*~***

* * *


	3. Ghost Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six tales from the ghosts of Hogwarts.

* * *

**I: Professor Binns**  
  
One never knows until the very end. Not until the sword pierces the heart, the lungs heave their last breath, or the death rattle claws its way out of the throat can you tell which of the dying will turn into ghosts.  
  
Some claim that certain people are more likely candidates to become the undead: The beautiful, the black-hearted, the young. But take a good look around you, and you'll see that the Dead are as motley a bunch as the living. Take that old canker, Binns, dry as the chalk dust that once billowed round his blackboards. Nobody figured he had much to live or die for. But here he is still, putting new generations of students to sleep, his droning voice more soporific than the scratching of his chalk had ever been.  
  
No, the only thing that all ghosts have in common is that they have something to cling to. It may be a lost love, an old grudge, a debt unpaid. Inevitably these reasons will be swept aside by the tide of time, but still they cling - to a shadow of life, and a memory of who they once were…

* * *

  
**II: Moaning Myrtle**  
  
Years before her death, Myrtle was already practiced in mourning. After all, Death held a grandeur that her life could never rival.  
  
Her parents had been deeply moved as eight year-old Myrtle wept over the gravesite of her pet ferret, had tolerated her burial of every dead rodent and squirrel in the vicinity, but finally drew the line when she insisted on performing last rites for the chicken cooling on their supper table.  
  
Myrtle however, remained undeterred. Once, she'd overheard her dorm-mate telling the legend of the Maiden Lin, the Chinese beauty more ravishing than any other in her dynasty, yet doomed by illness to an early grave. Every year Lin would gather the cherry blossoms as they fell, singing in a heart-rendingly lovely voice as she buried each flower and contemplated her own coming demise.  
  
Though Myrtle could only scrounge up a handful of dried wisteria and a rusty shovel, her own ceremony had gone quite well until Olive Hornby showed up, taunting Myrtle for her cracking voice and ugly glasses. Bravely, Myrtle carried on, until Peeves arrived to hurl nettles and dripping bubotuber cuttings at her head and drove her off in tears.  
  
Myrtle had dashed into the second floor lavatory and headlong into her own grave. Her dramatic death caused a sensation, but it was short-lived. Soon, the school was celebrating Tom Riddle's victory over Hagrid and his monster, and could only spare an _"Out of Order"_ sign for the ghost and her lonely loo.  
  
In the darkness Myrtle cried in mourning for herself, because nobody else ever would.

* * *

  
**III: Nearly Headless Nick**  
  
My condition? Well, I'd prefer not to discuss it in great detail.  
  
Yes, yes, I am perfectly aware that every new pupil gets a first-hand glimpse at my un-severed head. It's that dreaded nickname they insist on using instead of addressing me properly as Sir Nicholas. So naturally I need to satisfy the morbid curiosity of the youngsters, else we'd never get on with the rest of the introductions.  
  
It's more of an embarrassing predicament really. I walked to the execution block with all the dignity befitting my rank. How should I know that the executioner had slept in, and therefore missed the chance to sharpen his axe? Forty-five whacks I endured, biting back each howl of protest, yet still my head wouldn't disconnect, not even when they put me in my coffin. They ridicule me for it, Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt. _"No head polo for you, good sir." "Don't meet our qualifications." "Head still hanging in there, Nick?"_ I ask you, is it fair, is it just, to judge a man for all eternity by a measly, dangling half inch of un-severed tendon?!  
  
Oh, you meant the condition of being dead! Well, my good lady, that's a much longer and grander tale. In the year of our Lord 1492…

* * *

  
**IV: The Bloody Baron**  
  
For years, the Slytherins had whispered that his tongue had been cut out at the root, causing the silvery bloodstains that trailed down his ghostly doublet. This particular rumour had been quickly dispelled one Halloween when the Bloody Baron was heard to reproach Peeves in a thundering voice for replacing the candles in the pumpkins with stinkbombs.However, the fearful, delighted shiver that accompanied every mention of the Baron remained.  
  
New stories quickly sprang up to replace the old. The Bloody Baron had died bravely defending his home from the witch-hunters; he had drank poisoned wine; he had taken an unwilling bride who stabbed him on their wedding night…  
  
But nobody really knew which, if any, of these tales were true, for none dared to ask.

* * *

**V: The Fat Friar**

  
Why did I stay? I suppose each of us keeps asking ourselves that question, don't we.  
  
There are a lot of earthly delights I'd miss. The sunlight splashing over the mountains, the first flutter of a baby hippogriff's wings, the wonderful food… Well yes, I can't taste the food any longer, but just the sight and memory of it is still enough to water my tongue.  
  
The most important reason is that most of us will need a guiding hand at one time or another: someone to bring a bit of cheer and comfort, or simply share a laugh with on a dark day. That's been my job all my life, don't see why it should change just because we're dead.

* * *

**VI: The Grey Lady**

  
Her own story is an old one, and barely needs telling.  
  
There was a young man whom she wrote a hundred letters to, and he returned her love with a thousand kisses. They promised each other that their love would be eternal, but she was the only one foolish enough to take that to heart. After her death, she'd hovered next to him as he grieved, but could not wipe the tears from his eyes. Soon (was it after one night or a hundred?), he found another young woman who could, and it was in her arms that he lived and laughed and finally died.  
  
These days, she prefers to transcribe the tales of others. Her transparent quill scratches over translucent parchment, creating the loops and whirls in which history repeats itself, time and again. She traces the silvery words with a reverent finger, each story a life, a death, and an afterlife, striving to re-discover the path to eternity.

* * *


	4. Death Eaters and Darkness

* * *

**Dumbledore's Ashes**  
Prompt: Smoke  
  
_"Bright, white flames had erupted around Dumbledore's body and the table upon which it lay: higher and higher they rose, obscuring the body. White smoke spiralled into the air…" (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, p. 601.)_  
  
*~*~*  
Dumbledore's ashes drifted across the Hogwarts grounds, going where the wind took them, settling where it flagged. What was once the greatest wizard alive became part of the soil that supported the castle foundations, a tree in the Forbidden Forest, a mote of dust twinkling in the summer sunlight.  
  
Just as his body lived on in countless incarnations, his memory survived in the minds of all who knew him. Millions remembered his deeds. Generations of pupils, colleagues, and friends remembered his words. A few needed neither, for they already carried Dumbledore's essence in their hearts: his favorite pupil and his killer.  
*~*~* 

* * *

**Fear in a Handful of Dust**  
(Author’s Notes: AU/Canon-Divergence.The title comes from T. S. Eliot's poem "The Waste Land”)  
  
*~*~*  
They say…  
  
…that man was made from dust.  
  
…that vampires immerse themselves in grave dirt while sleeping through the daylight hours.  
  
…that red dust contains enough iron to sting the eyes of the Fair Folk, and destroy their glamours like rust devouring a blade.  
  
They say that it is only natural for man to return to dust.  
  
Neville scoops up a handful of freshly turned earth and tries to concentrate on its loamy fragrance, to imagine fresh blades of grass sprouting from the ground. He is silent as he feels the dirt crumble beneath his fingers and tumble into Harry's grave.  
*~*~*

* * *

**The Greatest Pain**

*~*~*  
It didn't hurt much.  
  
A bolt of green light, a rushing sound as death flew towards her on swift wings, a spasm that seized her entire body and tossed her to the ground.  
  
Compared to the agony of seeing James slain before her eyes, this was nothing at all.  
  
"Avada -"  
  
Harry's terrified scream rings in her ears as Lily is kicked aside. She struggled to shield him once more, but couldn't move her hands, her legs, couldn't feel her heart beating…  
  
"Keda -"  
  
In the last instant before darkness closed over her, Lily knew the greatest pain of all.  
*~*~*

* * *

**Epiphany**  
Prompt: Purity

*~*~*  
Tom Riddle knew he'd been impure from the womb.  
  
Mayhew was the only student who ever found out about Tom's unfortunate parentage. He'd sworn not to tell, and a quick Crucio followed by a memory charm ensured that he never would.  
  
But the fact remained that even if Tom bled himself dry, he still wouldn't be able to purge the taint of Muggle blood from his veins.  
  
Years later, as the screams of a dying Mudblood rang in his ears, he finally found the solution.  
  
Lord Voldemort may never be able to cleanse himself, but he _would_ cleanse the world.  
*~*~*

* * *

**Upholding the Right**  
Prompt: The Law

*~*~*  
Young Lucius Malfoy was well-versed in Muggle laws. He knew every decree passed during the Inquisition that allowed witches and wizards to be stoned, drowned, and burned, and the death tolls that each law once wrought.  
  
The Ministry buzzed with talk of a Muggle Protection Act, of admitting their spawn into the Wizarding world. No matter how Lucius bribed or cajoled, he was powerless to turn the tide.  
  
So he offered up his left arm for the Dark Mark, and pledged his life to the cause. To uphold what was right, it was sometimes necessary to step beyond the law.  
*~*~*

* * *

**Belonging**  
Prompt: Late

*~*~*  
Peter never wanted glory, only a place to belong.

James, Sirius, and Remus were each brilliant in their own way, while Peter was just… Peter. A tad slow on the uptake, and always huffing along two steps behind. Peter didn’t mind being last among the Marauders, so long as he had a place at all.  
  
But when James married Lily and Sirius moved in with Remus, Peter realized that there was no place for him anymore.  
  
Peter gritted his teeth as the Dark Mark burned into his flesh, and hoped it wasn’t too late to claim a new place for himself.  
*~*~*

* * *

**Voices of the Damned**  
  
*~*~*  
There is a certain poetry to the voices of the condemned.  
  
At first, the dungeon is filled with impassioned tirades. Witches shouting in righteous anger, wizards cursing his name, and Muggles demanding their lawyers and a telephone. The noise swells as the prisoners become aware of each other, terror feeding upon terror until the volume reaches an unbearable crescendo.  
  
The ebb of sound is gradual, but eventually, every voice reaches its breaking point. Soon, there are only simple pleas. Lord Voldemort finds this phase quite interesting, for it is now that each prisoner’s true colour is revealed.  
  
“Not Harry! Take me, take any of us, but not Harry!”  
  
“I’ll do anything if you let me go. Hell, I’ll do anything for a glass of water!”  
  
Inevitably, a few prisoners are driven mad. Their ramblings hold a special charm, and the Dark Lord sometimes spends hours following the serpentine twists of its logic, only to find it winding back to the beginning like a snake swallowing its own tail.  
  
In time, the pleas are replaced by muffled moans and howls wrenched out of bleeding throats. The few still able to speak are reduced to a single, infantile word.  
  
“No, no, no, no, _no!_ ”  
  
A sweeping wave of his wand and the words “Avada Kedavra” end the monotony.Silence settles, sudden and absolute, waiting to be filled with voices once again.  
*~*~*

* * *


	5. Foolish Wandwaving and General Silliness

**Not Over Until the Fat Lady Sings**  
Prompt: The End

*~*~*  
"It is not over!” Lord Voldemort raged.  
  
"My Lord, we're surrounded on all sides and outnumbered five to one!"  
  
"I ensured my immortality by creating six horcruxes--"  
  
"With all due respect, my Lord," Avery yelled as he dodged a flying curse, "All your horcruxes are destroyed and Potter and his weapon are heading this way!"  
  
"My reign cannot end until —“  
  
"Until now!" Harry announced triumphantly as he unleashed his secret weapon. The portrait of the Fat Lady delicately cleared her throat, then burst into glorious song.  
  
The Dark Lord froze in stupefied amazement, then vanished forever in a puff of smoke.  
*~*~*

* * *

**Feeding Time**  
Prompt: Miscommunication  
  
*~*~*  
“I don’t think it’s hungry,” Harry pointed out.  
  
Hermione ignored him and shoved a carefully shredded piece of lettuce towards their flobberworm.  
  
“How can you tell what it wants when we don’t even know which end its mouth is on?” Ron wondered.  
  
“Every creature instinctively knows how to communicate its desires, we just need to figure out its signals,” Hermione said determinedly.  
  
The flobberworm stretched, ate the piece of lettuce, and resumed its motionless sprawl. Hermione beamed at it encouragingly.  
  
The flobberworm gave a mighty heave, ejected a wad of half-digested lettuce, and lay motionless once again.  
*~*~*

* * *

**Harry Poppins**  
Prompt: Constant Vigilance  
  
*~*~*  
"Harry Poppins step in time, Harry Poppins step in time…"  
  
Harry's jaw dropped as he blundered into the common room. Every student looked like they'd been hit with the Tarantellegra hex, tap-dancing over the carpet, the couches, the ceiling, and singing "Never need a reason, never need a rhyme, Harry Poppins step in time!"  
  
"Try this on, dear,” Madame Malkins bustled towards Harry with a red dress and a parrot-headed umbrella.  
  
"Try this on, dear, step in time!"  
  
"Aaaagh!" Harry woke with a scream. He swore to stay constantly vigilant, and never allow the twins near his pumpkin juice again.  
*~*~*

* * *

  
**Rabastan The Incompetent Death Eater**  
Song fic set to “[Rasputin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aiSdTQ9DW9g)” by Boney M.  
*~*~*  
  
There was a certain man, among the DE ranks.  
He was big and strong, but also rather dumb.  
His bro and sis in-law, were quite the pair to fear,  
But poor Ra-ba-stan, was the gene pool's shallow end.  
He could wave a wand like any other, with full vigour and with flair.  
But his curses held no actual power, and could not harm a louse.  
  
Ra Ra Rabastan  
No one could ever see,  
Why Voldie branded him with the Dark Mark.  
Ra Ra Rabastan  
Voldemort’s greatest shame,  
He’s still rotting in Az-ka-ban.  
  
Oh those Death Eaters…  
*~*~*

* * *

**Wandering Knight**  
Prompt: In Motion  
  
*~*~*  
It takes a day to gallop through each of the five hundred and thirty-eight paintings in Hogwarts.  
  
At least, Sir Cadogan imagines that it would. His pony is only capable of a half-hearted trot, and prefers nibbling the Fat Lady’s gown to peripatetic adventures.Sir Cadogan accepts that such difficulties must beset every noble quest. Nonetheless, he is disappointed to return home a week later without overcoming any perils greater than the Fat Lady’s wrath.  
  
He longs for glory in a world not bounded by the four sides of a gilded frame, uncertain whether such thoughts are memories or merely dreams.  
*~*~*

* * *


	6. Endings and Beginnings

* * *

**New Beginnings**  
Relationship: Harry/Ron/Hermione Trio

*~*~*

Harry couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face the minute he got home.The little bungalow he shared with Hermione and Ron didn’t have the sprawling charm of Hogwarts Castle, or the decaying grandeur of Grimmauld Place.Instead, it seemed like a perfectly ordinary house, situated on a perfectly ordinary street. But look closer and you’ll see that this place was nothing like the cookie-cutter residences of Privet Drive.For one thing, there was a broomstick landing area in the back yard, complete with a tiny golden Snitch hovering overhead serving as a landing beacon. Other surprising touches included a kitchen pantry that never ran empty; a mandrake plant in the vegetable garden that sang show tunes when no-one was looking; and a pair of curtains the exact same shade of blue as those which once adorned a little house in Godric's Hollow. 

A cloud of fragrant steam engulfed Harry as he stepped into the kitchen. “Welcome home, Harry, dinner'll be ready in twenty minutes,” Ron said. Wand in hand, he was busily orchestrating the work of four different self-stirring pots, a feat that would've been sure to make Molly Weasley proud.  
  
Harry stood on tiptoe and kissed Ron hello, “Need any help in here?”

“Nah, just wash your hands and check in on Hermione.”

Harry followed the sound of a scratching quill to their home office, where Hermione's brown curls barely rose above the piles of papers that surrounded her. For the past month she'd been drafting a proposal for a Magical-Muggle Alliance Initiative. A pilot project to reveal their existence to a few, select Muggles; hopefully paving the way towards peaceful co-existence and end to the Wizarding Secrecy Act.

"Everything going okay?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Not really," Hermione said as she stood up and stretched. "But I do feel better now that you're here."

Harry wrapped Hermione in his arms, and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Thanks Harry," Hermione said as she gently pulled away. "It's just that the more I research, the more I doubt that any of this is going to work. There's just been so much mis-trust and bloodshed down through the centuries, how do we fix it and move forward?"

"Nobody can repair all the sins of the past," Harry said quietly. "The best we can do is learn from it, forgive, and move on. This Magical-Muggle Alliance is the right thing to do, and you're the perfect person to do it."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because love always wins in the end," Harry answered as he took Hermione's hand and placed it over his own heart. Hermione smiled back at him softly, then smiled even wider as both of their gazes turned toward Ron, whose ginger hair glowed in the setting sun as he beckoned them over for dinner.

Day by day, memory by memory, time and love was already transforming this new house into a true home. So long as the three of them were together, that's where home will always be.

***~*~***

* * *

**Half a Lifetime**  
Characters: Hermione

*~*~*  
At eleven, Hermione learned that witches and wizards lived to 150 and beyond.  
  
At twelve, she spent her first Christmas away from home. The need to test the polyjuice potion over-rode her guilt. In third year there was Buckbeak's defense to prepare. Fourth year brought the Yule Ball, and fifth year was better spent with Harry than skiing. But there would always be time for her family next year…  
  
When Hermione was forty-two, cancer consumed her mother from within, and no magic could save her.  
  
Living twice as long, Hermione realized, meant living half her life without those she loved.  
*~*~*  


* * *

  
**Caged**  
Characters: Sirius Black  
Challenge: Shapes

*~*~*  
Sirius used to doodle during History of Magic. Extravagant loops and spirals decorated the margins of his notes, and when he ran out of space, every "o" was in danger of being transformed into a cog or face or blazing sun.  
  
*  
  
Nowadays, his only canvas was a pockmarked cell wall. Each day, Padfoot's claws carved a new line with grim precision. Three horizontal lines overlaid four vertical ones, marking a week, a square, a miniature cell within his cell. It was one of the many ways he'd devised of imprisoning his sanity, as surely as Azkaban caged his body and soul.   
*~*~*

* * *

**Mirror, Mirror**  
Characters: Either Hermione Granger or Tom Riddle, the characteristics described here are intended to fit them both.

 ***~*~***  
Your hand was made to hold a wand.  
  
Witches and wizards, the cluttered wonders of Diagon Alley, the Hogwarts acceptance letter worn thin by numerous re-readings, none of it had seemed quite real until that moment. Mr. Ollivander had pressed the warm and solid weight of a wand into your hand, and something coursed through you, shocking as lightning, natural as the flow of blood in your veins — magic.  
  
You studied feverishly, hoping to compensate for eleven years of ignorance in a few scant months. By the time you stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, you had nearly memorized the entire first year curriculum. Your professors were suitably impressed, and you made sure to never disappoint them.  
  
You cared little for Quidditch, gobstones, or other forms of childish silliness, believing that something as precious as magic should not be wasted on such trivialities. Not that any of the other children ever invited the “bookish, swotty know-it-all” to play. You acted too old, knew too much, were of unfortunate birth…one way or another, you were always too different for their tastes.  
  
Eventually, you did acquire friends. And even though you studied together, laughed together, and even faced down death with those boys, a breath of loneliness still clung to you. Among your friends, you were the first to obtain a book from the Restricted section, the first to steal, and the only one with the audacity to form a secret society right under the noses of your professors. Yet time after time, you were also the last one to land in trouble.  
  
During your fifth year, you weren’t certain of what life beyond the castle walls would hold. Sometimes you wished that you had a dozen lifetimes to fulfill all your ambitions: right ancient wrongs, invent new spells, and gobble up all the knowledge in the world. The only thing you were certain of was that the wizarding world would not be the same for having you in it.  
  
You did not bother to dart one last glance in the mirror before climbing into bed. If you had, would you have given one last, exasperated tug at your long, bushy brown hair; or merely nodded at the reflection of a boy with immaculate black locks and icy blue eyes? Either way, you carefully set your gleaming Prefect’s badge on the night table, pulled the covers close and dreamed — of life, destiny and magic.  
  
***~*~***

* * *

**{The End}**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and kudos always make my day :)


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